


Waffles

by cantthinkofausername_B_Pike



Series: Carry On Countdown 2017 [22]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Countdown, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Simon is a Mess, the shortest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike/pseuds/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike
Summary: Simon tries to make Baz breakfast, but things don't go quite as he planned.Day 23 of the Countdown: cooking/baking





	Waffles

**Author's Note:**

> this is so short and kind of rushed, but oh well. I'll do better for tomorrow. or the day after. maybe.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

The most irritating, high-pitched sound imaginable is piercing my ears.

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

What is that?

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

My eyes fly open as I realize: **the smoke alarm**. I shoot out of bed. Simon isn’t there. Where did he go? I’m panicking. My flat is on fire and I’m _flammable_ and I can’t find my boyfriend. Wide-eyed, I rush out of the bedroom. “Simon?” I yell.

I hear muffled cursing coming from the kitchen, followed by “Baz? You’re up?”

“Of course I’m up, the flat is on fire!”

“No, it’s not.”

I enter the kitchen and see Simon, wearing a ratty t-shirt and sweats, standing on a chair and waving a hand towel at the smoke detector. “Good morning,” he says cheerily.

The waves of panic are slowly fading. “You almost gave me a heart attack, Snow! And all you say is ‘good morning’?”

Simon pauses in his towel-waving to smile down at me. “Good morning. Sorry I set off the smoke alarm and woke you up. The flat is not on fire. Better?”

I’m trying so hard not to make a sarcastic comment to hide how scared I was. Instead, I poke around at the charred remains of something still smoking in the sink. “What’s this?”

Still concentrating on the smoke detector, Simon starts to answer. “Well, I was trying to make waffles.”

“You realize your wings would be much more effective than that towel, right? Also, how is this,” I poke the blackened item, “a waffle?”

I truly believe Simon had forgotten he has wings. That’s an accomplishment in itself; they’re huge. “It’s too small in here to use my wings,” he says, and it would be a perfectly valid reason if I hadn’t seen the flash of surprise cross his face at my suggestion. “And I was going to make you breakfast, for your birthday, except I burned it.”

By this point, the smoke detector has stopped beeping. Simon climbs down from the chair, his wings knocking into cabinets. I had completely forgotten it was my birthday. I’m twenty. I can’t believe it. “Thank you,” I say, smiling.

“I kind of wrecked it.” He’s concerned.

I shrug. “It was a sweet idea.”

I catch sight of the counter behind Simon. The waffle iron, at least half of the blackened waffle still in it, takes up most of the counter. The plug curls around a large silver bowl mostly full of what looks like more batter. 

Simon follows my line of sight. “Yeah.” He winces. “I know, we _just_ got that.”

Surprisingly, I find all this rather endearing. “It’s no problem. I’ll clean it.”

“You shouldn’t have to clean it. It’s for your birthday.” Simon’s wings droop slightly. I’ve noticed they do that when he’s upset with himself, like he’s trying to take up less space.

I hug him, and I can tell he’s surprised. “I love you,” I say, kissing his forehead. I cautiously approach the burned waffle, detach the plate from the iron, and begin scraping the contents into the trash can. “How did _this_ happen?”

“Oh. I, um, forgot cooking spray. And then when it was done, and I went to take it out, I couldn’t. So, I just unplugged it and waited for it to cool down. Which took a while.” He laughs nervously. 

I smile and shake my head as I put the waffle iron in the sink. “Only you, Snow. Only you.” 

“Well, um, happy birthday? Do you just want to go get breakfast or something? I don’t think this can be saved.” 

“Sure,” I say, smiling. “That sounds great." 

Simon glances down at himself. “Just, we should probably put on real clothes first." 

“Probably.” 

As we leave the flat a few minutes later, Simon’s wings now safely glamoured, I look around the kitchen. It still smells burnt, but we’ll clean this up later. Or, we’ll try to clean it up, but knowing Simon, we’ll end up with soap suds everywhere like we’re still five years old. Simon Snow is a disaster, but he’s my disaster, and I love it. 


End file.
